Marrying Mr. English: The English Brothers #7 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 11) by Katy Regnery

wife.”
    Susannah’s eyes jerked back to Tom’s in shock, but a delighted smile soon followed, and she extended her hand to Eleanora. “Oh, I’m so happy for you! Congratulations!”
    “Thank you, Susannah,” said Eleanora, feeling just a little bit better and more confident after such a warm greeting. “You’re very kind.”
    “I’m happy for Tom,” said Susannah, patting him on the arm before beaming at Eleanora. “And for you.”
    “Is my grandfather waiting for us?”
    “He is,” said Susannah, her grin fading as she turned to Tom. Her voice was cool and formal when she added, “Follow me, please.”
    Eleanora gulped as they walked down an austere hallway decorated with painted portraits and brass sconces. The entire house was like a museum—old and grand. And this is where Tom had grown up.
    You come from no Christmas tree and cans heated up for dinner. I come from . . . Haverford Park. Two different worlds, but as far as I’m concerned, neither one is better or worse than the other. We can’t help where we come from, okay?
    She was determined not to judge him, just as he hadn’t judged her. Yes, they were from two different worlds, but the only thing that mattered was how they felt about each other.
    “It’ll be okay,” Tom whispered.
    She nodded at him with her bravest smile. “I know it will.”
    Susannah knocked on a large, dark-wood door, and a gruff voice commanded, “Come!” She pushed open the door and gave Eleanora an encouraging smile, mouthing, “Good luck.”
    Pulled by Tom into his grandfather’s study, Eleanora took a moment to glance around the room. The walls were covered with bookcases from floor to ceiling, and several easy chairs and love seats were placed around the enormous room for reading. In the center, in front of one massive window that looked out over the grounds of Haverford Park, was a large wooden desk. Behind it sat an older man—maybe in his seventies—with white hair and bushy eyebrows, wearing a three-piece suit and a maroon bow tie. He eyed Eleanora shrewdly, and she forced herself not to look away.
    “Grandfather,” said Tom, approaching the desk. “Merry Christmas.”
    “Yes, yes.”
    “You look well.”
    “Humph. I feel old.” He gestured to the two stiff-backed chairs in front of the desk. “Sit.”
    Tom pulled out the left chair, and Eleanora sat down, folding her hands in her lap and staring at the elder Mr. English. If she looked down, it might convey that she was frightened or that she wasn’t committed to Tom, and she didn’t want that. She’d promised to help him secure his inheritance, and that’s precisely what she intended to do.
    “Who’s this?” the older man asked gruffly, flicking a glance at Tom before looking back at Eleanora.
    “Grandfather, may I present Eleanora Watters English, my bride?”
    Mr. English stared at her with narrowed eyes for several long minutes. “She’s a looker.”
    “Yes, sir,” said Tom, a hint of pride in his voice.
    “Where are you from, Miss Watters?”
    “Colorado, sir.”
    “Whereabouts?”
    “Romero.”
    “Never heard of it.”
    “That’s not surprising. It’s very small.”
    “Does everyone in Romero marry strangers on a whim?”
    Eleanora swallowed.
    Tom reached for her hand, and his grandfather huffed in disgust. “Save that for when you’re alone.”
    She was relieved when Tom threaded his fingers through hers in defiance, anchoring her to him.
    “What do you do for work, gal?”
    “I’m a . . .” Her cheeks flushed with shame as she glimpsed a collection of silver trophies on a credenza behind the desk, but she lifted her chin. “I’m a waitress.”
    “Of course you are,” said Mr. English, taking a deep breath and sighing. He shuffled some papers around on his desk without looking up. “Will you excuse us, Miss Watters?”
    He was dismissing her? Just like that? Her heart thundered in her chest, a mix of indignance and nerves.
    “Sir?”
    “I’d like a word